


Paper Butterflies

by MaraudingManaged



Series: LF2020 [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cinderella Elements, Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M, Flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22853053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaraudingManaged/pseuds/MaraudingManaged
Summary: Theo Nott simply wanted to curl up in a comfortable chair, with a good book, and the company of only one girl.Shame that Ginny Weasley and Blaise Zabini feel like he needs a bit more excitement in his life.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott
Series: LF2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628197
Comments: 11
Kudos: 77
Collections: Love Fest 2020





	Paper Butterflies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyKenz347](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/gifts).



> Partially inspired by a beautiful manip, written for the FOTR #LF2020 #TeamEros. 
> 
> Also known as my new OTP help please I'm in a Theomione hole. As most stories for this fest, unbeta'd because I'm writing like a demon!

Theo didn’t know, exactly, who he was supposed to have come dressed as. 

Zabini and Weasley-The-Youngest had unceremoniously dumped a bundle of heavy clothes into his arms a week ago, with shared shit-eating grins. He’d spent an unholy amount of time since standing in front of the mirror whilst it was altered by the aforementioned Slytherin boy who’d taken far too much glee in fitting the cream trousers unnecessarily tightly, in his mind, to his rear end. 

The tailcoat was, he supposed, quite flattering - the heavy black wool broken by bronzed swirls and shining buttons, fit sharply at the waist to reveal the dark turquoise waistcoat and cravat beneath. The black boots he wore were polished to a shine and, he had to admit, had a pleasing ‘click’ to the heel when he walked across the cold stone of the Slytherin common room. A transfigured sword hung at his waist - for fencing, Zabini had told him with a grin, but he could use it to beat off the girls throwing themselves at his feet. 

A bronze filigree mask completed his ensemble, and as he gave himself a final once-over in the mirror he could admit that he didn’t look entirely awful. 

He ran a hand through the ‘artfully windswept’ waves atop his head as he examined himself in one of the gilded mirrors that lined the Slytherin common room, and grimaced at the oddly crunchy texture the hair potion had given him. 

“Leave your hair the fuck alone, Nott, I swear to Merlin!” 

A slim but unnervingly muscular arm looped through his, and he was dragged gracelessly away from his preening. 

“Why are you in our common room, Red? Is nothing sacred any longer? Can’t a Slytherin be left in peace?” Theo groused, and Ginny Weasley grinned at him, sporting only a shimmering purple bra that appeared to be fashioned of seashells, and an iridescent green skirt that was tight to her knees and fanned outwards in ripples of paler seafoam. In her hair was a… “Why in the ever-loving _fuck_ do you have a fork in your hair?” 

“Do you like it? It’s from a Muggle fairytale - ‘Mione introduced these Disney… plays? I think she called them ‘films’. They’re on the Muggle telly-box.” She shrugged, and spun around for him. 

Theo felt his brain backfire for just a moment at the mention of _her_ name, and entirely forgot what he was supposed to be looking at. Ginny very quickly paused, hands on hips, and then snapped her fingers at him in irritation. 

“Nott? Hello? Have the Nargles found you?” 

“It’s… certainly unique. And what are Na...” 

“Luna. Best not to dwell on it, if I’m honest,” Ginny said lightly, and then her eyes widened as the chiming of the school’s clock echoed down the deserted corridor. “Bloody hell, come on! Your partner will be at the Great Hall any minute with Blaise. I’d like my date back, and you can _finally_ meet yours!” Ginny started to drag him along faster until he had to jog a little to realign his steps with hers

“I don’t understand why you won’t tell me who it is, Red. It’s not like I won’t be able to work it out.” 

“Because they’d like a bit of anonymity - to get rid of preconceived notions, if you like.” 

“Bull _shit_ did you come out with that phrase yourself, Red. You lack the vocabulary.” 

“You can sit and swivel, Nott. I’m perfectly fucking verbose when I need to be.”

They bantered back and forth on the way to the ridiculous Valentines ball. He’d not even intended on going at all until the week prior when Zabini and little Red had happened upon him at breakfast and told him in no uncertain terms that he would be attending. When he’d questioned why - he’d had a perfectly good date with an Arithmancy essay planned, because Valentines Day was commercial bollocks - he had been told they’d found him an actual, real date. 

Theo had choked on his cereal, and both Weaslette and Zabini had smacked him firmly on the back until he could breathe easily again. Then he’d been dumped with his ridiculous costume and told to be prompt for fittings, as Blaise wanted to make sure he was a _masterpiece_. 

Theo didn’t much feel like a masterpiece. He felt like a fraud in this get-up, off to meet some girl that he may or may not actually know at all, when there was only one girl he was interested in at all - and she’d already told him she wouldn’t be attending as they’d mused over runic lore in the library not a day earlier. 

He’d wanted to ask her. He _should_ have asked her. But instead, like the coward he was, Theo had chosen to stay silent and agree that he wasn’t attending either. 

_“Maybe we can be hermits together?” He’d asked tentatively, and Granger paused for a moment before a wry smile formed on her face._

_“I don’t think I’d be very good company. Surely you’d prefer someone a little more...” She gestured vaguely into the air. “... engaging.”_

_Theo felt his cheeks warming just a little as he muttered quietly, “I think you’re quite engaging enough, Hermione.”_

_She went bright red, and stuttered something about Weasley the youngest before packing up her parchment and books; dashing from the library before he could stop her, leaving him cursing his own stupid mouth because he was clearly incapable of being suave even when he actually tried._

They entered as 8pm struck, and he wondered if there was any point at all in participating in this whole charade, considering he was fairly well-stuck on one particular girl anyway. Just as he was about to voice his thoughts to Ginevra, he felt her nudge him in the ribs, and she pointed with raised brows - and his eyes followed.

She stood at the doors to the Great Hall, and Theo knew exactly who he was supposed to meet that night. Her sweeping ball gown flowed like water to the floor in layers of tulle, a tight satin bodice, and a wide ruffled neckline that was dotted with what appeared to be delicate, fluttering butterflies. 

And upon her soft, heart-shaped face, framed by long dark ringlets, was a filigree mask just like his own. As soon as that face turned towards him, soft pink lips widened into a smile that displayed her white, perfectly straight teeth. The crowd barely gave her notice, barely even parted as they danced, but she was with him in no time at all, floating on light footsteps until she stood before him, dropping into a deep, sweeping curtsy.

“My Prince.” 

“My Lady,” he responded with a bow of his own. He gazed at her face, but found himself curiously unable to focus on it, and he chuckled. “That’s a clever little charm you’ve used.” 

“Oh, it’s only a modified Notice-Me-Not. It shan’t last very long, of course, but it’ll do for the night.” 

“Such mystery around you, my Lady,” 

“Do you know who we’re supposed to be? I don’t suppose Ginny or Blaise deigned to tell you.” 

“Why don’t you enlighten me whilst we dance?” Theo held out his hand, and after only a moment’s hesitation, she placed her slim ink-stained fingers in his. 

_Ink-stained._

It was Granger. 

_Granger, Granger, Granger. Here, dancing, dressed up to the nines and entirely glorious in her naivety._

He couldn’t let her know. She’d wanted some kind of anonymity, and so he’d give it to her… somehow. It wasn’t going to be easy, considering he’d spent the last five months falling quite stupidly in love with her. 

Instead, he took her to the dancefloor where milling students in all kinds of dress paid them no mind. To them, they were just any other masked couple, dancing together.

But to Theo? To Theo, it was pure magic.

“So, my Lady,” he began as he slipped an arm around her slim waist and took her free hand in his other. “You have a story to tell me?” 

Hermione beamed, and began her fairytale. 

  
  


* * *

“It’s warm - you look like you’re positively boiling in that get-up. Shall we…” Hermione gestured towards the doors of the castle that led out into the courtyard, and he nodded, flooded with relief. 

“I’d like that; there are far too many people here for my liking,” he laughed and Hermione slipped her arm through his offered one. 

“I quite agree. Come on then, Prince Charming.” 

They meandered through the corridors to the courtyard, slowly breathing in the cool February air. They didn’t even need to speak - Theo simply felt comforted and relaxed in her presence, as he had from the moment he’d spent real, meaningful time with her. 

He’d been so, so wrong about her. They all had. It had been so easy to find ways to pick fault, but after even a few hours of easy conversation and lively debate, Theo found himself drawn to her more and more until he was with her more often than he wasn’t. 

And he was in love with her, totally and utterly. 

“You know,” he began after a moment, summoning every ounce of his courage. “I wasn’t even going to come. There was this girl, you know? And I thought she wasn’t going to be coming either.” 

Hermione stilled, and turned to him. “Oh?” 

Her voice was filled with hope, he could hear. And a hint of breathlessness - was it fear? Anticipation? Theo felt it all and surely, _surely_ , she did too. Above their heads, the great clock of the tallest tower began to chime midnight.

_One chime, two, three._

“Mhhm. And I have to hope, don’t I, that she feels the same.” 

“I…” She trailed off. _Four, Five, six._ A blush had stained her cheeks and neck before she cleared her throat. “I think she’d be rather a fool if she didn’t.” 

_Holy fuck. Seven, eight, nine chimes._

Heart racing, fingers trembling Theo raised a hand to her mask ever so slowly. “May I?” He asked, the slightest of wavers in his voice, and she paused for a moment before nodding. He tucked one finger under the delicate, skin-warmed metal, and began to lift it, until she tore away in a panic. 

“Oh, _bloody sodding Merlin!_ ” 

The curse was so out of place he started, but she was already grasping at her dress. “My Prince, it’s been a pleasure, but I’ve got to go.” 

_Ten, eleven, twelve._

She didn’t stop, and as he reached out to catch her, a single paper butterfly fluttered from her dress that he managed to capture. 

“Wait! Come back! Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Hermione!” He cursed, and then glanced at the paper butterfly in his hand. Another was just a little further away, back into the corridor, stirring on the marble floor where the gentlest of breezes made it dance and flutter. 

“Time to follow the butterflies, then.” He sighed, and then set off at a jog, stopping to collect each delicate paper creature as he passed. 

  
  


* * *

_Oh, buggering, arseing hell!_

Hermione ran the corridors, gathering her disintegrating skirts together as she shot up flight of stairs after flight of stairs. 

This was _not_ how she’d planned her date with Theo to go. Talk about life imitating art in the worst possible way. 

Well, she considered as she paused briefly to take off the now desperately uncomfortable heels, it probably wasn’t how _Ginny_ had planned her date with the Slytherin boy to go. She’d have been perfectly content to just sit with a good book and relax in the Room of Requirement, but oh no. She was shoehorned into her old Yule Ball dress that Ginny and Blaise Zabini, of all people, had transfigured to within an inch of its life. 

The dress which was now falling to absolute pieces with every step she took. 

She wasn’t sure how she managed to make it to the portrait before her dress entirely reverted, but she did it. “Cornish Pixies! Oh, come _on_ ! _Cornish-bloody-pixies!_ ” 

“There’s no need for that language,” the portrait huffed, but swung open obediently and Hermione all but dived through the hole and rested against it. 

She’d barely had two minutes to catch her breath, two more minutes as her dress turned to torn, ruined silk and satin, when a bang echoed on the portrait behind her. 

“Hermione, please! Come out, for Merlin’s sake. I know it’s you. I’ve always known it was you. _Please_.” 

Her heart stopped. Her breathing stopped. She was washed with cold and then heat - even though only moments before she was about to allow Theo to remove her mask and the glamour that kept her identity even vaguely hidden. 

Her fingers grasped at her throat; uncertainty clawed at her stomach and her knees were weak. 

She had a choice, and she needed to make it quickly. She paced back and forth, spinning on her heel, before turning to rest her forehead on the rear side of the portrait - facing Theo, without actually facing him. 

Hermione had never been good at love. At fancying people, at being a girl at all, really. She'd had just a few occasions to really feel special, and on those occasions she'd still managed to bugger it up somehow. 

She breathed deeply in through her nose, and out through her mouth. 

She was allowed happiness. She was allowed a love of her own. She was worthy of it. 

Heart in her throat, carefully pinned curls in disarray, dress in ruins, and those awful torturous heels in hand, she turned to open the portrait. And before her, in all his costumed glory, his mask in hand, was a sheepish Theo Nott. 

But he was gazing at her as if she were the most beautiful thing in the world. 

"May I?" He asked, holding out his hand to her. Her fingers danced by her side for a moment, indecision still tearing at her. 

"I look a mess," she protested weakly, and he frowned. 

"You're... Hermione, you're pure _magic_. You... You're beautiful even in those bloody awful school skirts. I... oh, sod this." 

And he took her hand, hauling her out of the Common Room until she staggered over her own two feet, falling into his arms, and with the gentlest of touches, he pressed his lips to hers. 


End file.
